


Impact

by SouthernContinentSkies



Series: Barrayar BDSM-verse [2]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Chastity Device, D/s, Kink Negotiation, M/M, NO impact or pain play, Orgasm Denial, References to Prince Serg, Relationship Negotiation, public displays of D/s, social politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: Some things leave a mark, and the glittering tinsel of Vorbarr Sultana hides many such dangers. As they navigate the early stages of their public and their private relationships, Gregor and Ivan figure out what marks they can afford to take, or leave.
Relationships: Gregor Vorbarra/Ivan Vorpatril
Series: Barrayar BDSM-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904902
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Impact

Despite his initial concerns, Ivan’s life wearing Gregor’s collar hadn’t changed as much as he’d feared. Moving into the Residence had been an adjustment, certainly - but he did, after protracted discussion, have his own rooms, which meant he could come and go mostly as he liked, with a minimum of fuss and security. He no longer did his own cooking or housekeeping, but considering the usual state of his flat in that regard, this was only an improvement. He also still had his job in Desplain’s office, at least for now. _I’m already the Head of Ops, Vorpatril_ , the Admiral had said, dry as dust. _I don’t suppose anyone will think I’m angling for a promotion_. 

The most notable difference was that his invisible outer perimeter had spawned a closer and more conspicuous representative. Ivan, whose more drastic visions had involved an entire squad of intimidating Residence guardsmen, was much relieved. Lieutenants Pelletier and Fulson, who usually filled the position, were sufficiently young and congenial that Ivan didn’t feel like he was being either herded around or loomed at, which he guessed was the point. They probably also knew several dozen ways to kill a man with a shoelace, but what Ivan didn’t know, he didn’t have to worry about.

The light security allowed Ivan to continue his social life as normal, or at least most of it. Captain Tanner, who ran the overall team, definitely preferred it when Ivan stuck to known and previously-cleared venues, but he didn’t grumble too loudly about anything not actively marked suspicious. As Ivan didn’t generally get invitations from galactics, radicals, or any drug dealers who weren’t closely related to a Count, this tended not to be a problem.

Tonight’s excursion was to Vorlightly House, which fell well within ImpSec’s comfort zone. Lady Letitia Vorlighty, the Count’s granddaughter, had recently returned from her studies on Beta Colony, and had immediately summoned as many of her old friends and peers as possible to mark the occasion. The response had been enthusiastic. Ivan hadn’t heard what exactly Lady Letitia had been studying, in the hour he’d spent in the ornate Vorlightly ballroom, but he had heard a great deal about what she’d learned outside the classroom - or at least, what the younger men in attendance apparently hoped she had. 

Ivan, who had more of Miles’ stories of the place than he ever cared to remember, was rather more skeptical, and he wasn’t quite so keen on chasing girls at the moment, regardless. Really, he’d accepted the invitation mostly out of restlessness. While he was _able_ to go to the same sorts of parties he had before, many of the usual hosts had stopped inviting him. They hadn’t stopped speaking to him, or at least their friends hadn’t, so Ivan had it on good intelligence that this was nervous political deference rather than ill feeling, but it was still annoying. Lady Letitia’s invitation had at least been an opportunity to get out of the Residence.

Now that he was here, though, Ivan sort of wished he wasn’t. The whole crowd was on the younger side - which he should have expected, Lady Letitia being only 22 - and someone had convinced the House staff to pipe in some kind of galactic music, rather than anything the Count would have approved of. Ivan had hoped some of the young officers from his branch of Ops would be there, but if they were, they were hidden behind an avalanche of their more useless cousins. It was a shame he always had to go to these things by himself. If he’d been with Gregor, he might have at least got by with mocking the worst parts of the crowd. Bringing even Count Vorbarra to this sort of gathering was quite out of the question, though - and anyway, he would have hated it.

Ivan’s eyes scanned across the room, looking for anyone worthwhile. Unfortunately, the only person who leapt out at him was Lord Willem Vorwynne, who was heading in Ivan’s direction with an air of pointed interest. Well-heeled but poorly-spoken, and distinguishable from the town clowns across the room only by his title, Lord Willem was one of the last people Ivan wanted to be talking to, especially in this sort of mood. The faint, unfriendly smile playing across Lord Willem’s lips did nothing to suggest otherwise.

“Surprised to see _you_ here,” Lord Willem said as he approached. His eyes had stopped on Ivan’s collar without ever making it up to his face. “I would have thought you’d be, huh, tied up at the Residence, these days.”

“Good evening, Lord Willem,” Ivan said, with a practiced air of perfectly neutral civility. The last thing he wanted was to encourage conversation.

Lord Willem didn’t seem to require encouragement, however. “It _is_ a pretty piece of jewelry, Vorpatril,” he continued, his smile shifting into a lecherous sneer. “Does it do anything, or is it just for show?”

Ivan suppressed a sigh. “What do you think, Vorwynne?” he said flatly, hoping the equivalent lack of courtesy would warn him off.

Unfortunately, Lord Willem was either too drunk or too foolhardy to be warned. “I think the Emperor’s a bit of a stretch for a glorified secretary,” he said. “You must be really good at sucking cock.”

Ivan’s glare got all the way out of his eyes before he could stop himself. He didn’t care, at all, what Lord Willem thought of him, and frankly “glorified secretary” was an entirely accurate description of his job, but the implication that Gregor’s collar was only about sex was insulting regardless. 

Collar relationships implicitly involved sex, of course, but that wasn’t what they were _for_ ; much like marriages and children, the fact that sex was usually instrumental in accomplishing their purpose wasn’t something one brought up in polite company. The point of a collar was to foster appropriate values of obedience and responsible authority, and to establish relationships of mentorship and patronage. To suggest that Ivan had been collared primarily for sexual reasons was not only to effectively call Ivan a whore, but to insinuate that his Dom was declining his social responsibilities in favor of his personal satisfaction. Which was a daring thing to say about the man who also happened to be the Emperor.

Worse, Lord Willem was no longer sober enough to control his volume. His words had clearly carried to at least the nearest groups of partygoers, many of whom were now trying to listen in for further developments without being overly conspicuous. As many of them were also well on their way to tipsy - or past it - their subtlety was distinctly lacking. Ivan could see any number of craning necks and cocked ears pointed in his general direction.

“Then again, you are pretty enough for the Emperor, aren’t you,” Lord Willem continued, before Ivan could collect himself to respond. “Why don’t you get on your knees and show us what’s worth the price of admission at the Residence, eh? I think this party could use some livening up.”

Ivan bristled internally, but his only outward reaction was a roll of his eyes. “No one cares what you think, Vorwynne,” he said. “I certainly don’t.” And he turned to leave, dodging Lord Willem’s clumsy attempt to grab his arm.

“When he comes to his senses and drops you for someone of consequence,” Lord Willem said loudly, behind him, “Feel free to call me. I’m sure I can find you something more suitable. Not me, of course, but I do have loads of country cousins.”

There was a moment of silence in the immediate area, which spread throughout the room as those farther away processed what was happening. The closer half of the room was glancing surreptitiously between the two of them, by turns anticipating the drama, and plotting their exits in case someone Official decided Lord Willem had gone too far.

“You’re drunk, Lord Willem,” said Ivan finally, looking back over his shoulder and pitching his voice to carry as far as Lord Willem’s had. “I certainly hope you have better manners when you’re sober.”

The knots of guests parted easily around him as he made his way to the door, though they closed in immediately behind him as he passed. The whispers were already rising, spreading out from Lord Willem’s immediate vicinity like ripples in an overly slimy pond. Ivan almost regretted the distinct lack of looming from his ImpSec shadow. Lieutenant Fulson couldn’t have helped with the main event, though, even if he had been right behind Ivan rather than watching from the wall, so perhaps it was for the best. Even in Vorbarr Sultana, ImpSec didn’t stun people for being rude.

As expected, Fulson caught up with him at the door. “Going home, sir?” he asked, reaching for his comm.

“Yes.” Ivan rubbed his hand over his face. “And not remotely soon enough.”

Lieutenant Fulson, who had considerable practice ignoring social problems that were not his job to solve, merely summoned the Residence groundcar without comment.

By the time the armored groundcar had made its way back to the Residence, the adrenaline of the incident had worn off, leaving Ivan merely tired. Not so badly that he wanted to turn in immediately, however, especially if Gregor were still awake. Perhaps he could salvage some of the evening after all. 

Ivan had blanket access to the Imperial Suite, and Gregor’s guards let him in without comment, even at this hour. He found Gregor still awake, thankfully, ensconced on the sofa in the formal parlor. He had a pile of flimsies on the coffee table in front of him, and a mildly exasperated look on his face.

“Hey,” Ivan said, as Gerard closed the door behind him. “Glad to see you’re still awake, even if you don’t look it yourself.” 

“Ivan,” Gregor said warmly, looking up from his flimsies. “You’re home earlier than I expected. How was the party?”

“It was fine,” said Ivan. The sting of Lord Willem’s words was fading, and anyway, the man was barely a step up from a town clown. It wasn’t worth making a production out of it; Ivan would just as soon forget the whole thing. “Nobody I really wanted to talk to. How are your flimsies?”

“They’re fine,” Gregor said, setting them aside with a slight smile. “Nothing I really wanted to be reading.”

Ivan cocked his head. “Does that mean you’re done with them?”

“I am now,” Gregor said, and stood up to greet Ivan properly.

The rest of the night was far more enjoyable.

* * *

Ivan didn’t think of Lord Willem for the next several days. He went off to Ops every morning, had lunch with colleagues when he could manage it, and came home to Gregor. Gregor was much busier than he was, at the moment, but he always made a point to at least eat dinner with Ivan, unless there was an actual emergency. Ivan heard nothing more about the incident from anyone, including his mother, and if he thought anything of it, it was only to conclude that everyone had been sensible enough to ignore it and move on.

The next weekend, however, he wandered over to Gregor’s small drawing room for breakfast, as usual - only to find Gregor already seated, frowning at him over his groats.

“Good morning, Ivan,” he said, before Ivan had a chance to speak. “Did you talk to Lord Willem Vorwynne at Vorlightly House last weekend?”

“Uh,” said Ivan, sliding into a chair and reaching for coffee and groats of his own. “Yeah, briefly. Why?”

“And you didn’t think you ought to tell me about it?” Gregor asked, ignoring Ivan’s question.

Ivan blinked. It was very early in the morning for Gregor to be this intense. “Well… no? I mean, nothing happened. He was just drunk and insulting, which apparently is just how he is, and then I left. How do you know about it, anyway? It wasn’t exactly a notable exchange.”

“It was notable enough that you left immediately afterwards, according to your security,” Gregor said, still frowning slightly. “So clearly it upset you to some degree, which on its own is worth telling me about. But beyond that, it was an exchange in which an heir’s heir questioned the validity of the Emperor’s collar, in public, to the face of the person wearing it. Even if you weren’t personally offended, it was certainly _notable_ in that regard. And I’m not alone in thinking so; one of Simon’s irregulars brought it in later this week, as a live gossip item at an entirely different party.”

Ivan winced. “Oh.”

“So I’d like to hear your version of events, please,” Gregor continued. “Just to better understand the situation. Town clown gossip has its uses, but knowledge of the underlying facts isn’t usually one of them.”

Ivan grimaced, and took a fortifying gulp of his coffee before speaking.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” he said. “Lord Willem came up to me at the party, already way past tipsy, and said a lot of things about how I wasn’t good enough for you, except presumably in bed, and then I left.”

“Yes, I’ve had the outline already,” Gregor said, unappeased. “What things did he say, specifically?”

Ivan took another swig of coffee, as a delaying tactic. “He asked if the collar was real, or just for show. Called me a glorified secretary, which, he’s not wrong. But his big parting line was that once you inevitably dropped me for someone more accomplished, he’d be kind enough to find me one of his apparently numerous country cousins as a replacement. That’s probably the part most people heard.”

“Is that all?”

Ivan shifted uncomfortably. “He did also suggest that I get on my knees and demonstrate ‘what’s worth the price of admission at the Residence,’ to ‘liven up the party.’ But that was at a, uh. More personal volume.

“To which you said nothing? _Ivan_.”

“He was drunk,” Ivan said, trying not to get defensive. “It wasn’t worth escalating.”

“Deflection may well have been the best response in the moment,” Gregor said, after an unhappy pause. “I wasn’t there, so I won’t second-guess you on that point. And of course nobody would think anything of my inaction at an event I didn’t attend. But if I had known about the incident when I spoke with Count Vorwynne two days ago, I would have said something to _him_ , and let him pass along whatever censure or punishment to his grandson he thought appropriate, and have it dealt with internally at the family level. As it is, I’ve lost my chance at that. Which is unfortunate, because now I either have to do it myself, and dignify a dissipated heir’s heir with a response directly from the Residence, even if I style it as from Count Vorbarra - or do nothing at all, which both exposes you to further advances, and undermines the very political protection my collar was supposed to afford in the first place. Neither option is particularly appealing.”

“Oh.” Ivan shifted his eyes off to the side, avoiding Gregor’s gaze. “That’s… I’m not used to people insulting me being something important. I’m sorry.”

“It’s unfortunate that your first conflict after I collared you was with your mother,” Gregor said finally. “Interfering in your family relationships would have been inappropriate, not to mention terrifically counterproductive in that case. So of course I didn’t, and this apparently gave you the idea that I wouldn’t, generally. But this business with Lord Willem was a social issue, Ivan, and a very blatant one. It is literally my duty to defend you in that sort of circumstance. And I can’t do that duty if I don’t realize it exists. You should have told me.”

Ivan stared guiltily at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Gregor sighed. “It’s alright, Ivan. It is what it is, at this point. It’s not a disaster, just something we’ll have to deal with. Just be a little more forthcoming in the future, please. You’re not wandering through the wilderness of the Vorbarr Sultana social scene on your own, anymore, even if I can’t always be with you in person.”

“Yeah, of course,” Ivan said. “I’ll remember.” He hoped. His calibration of what sort of incident required backup was clearly out of date. It shouldn’t be a terrible adjustment just to debrief properly, however. He supposed that ideally, he’d be keeping that sort of thing in mind in the moment as well, but changing his habits of deflection and demurral would be a much harder slog.

They turned back to their breakfasts for a few bites, until Ivan thought of something else. “Are you going to punish me?”

Gregor looked up from his groats, frowning slightly. “Would you like me to?”

Unable to help himself, Ivan shot him a look of frustrated incredulity.

“I’m not asking you to pick your preference,” Gregor said, unruffled. “I’m asking, quite honestly, if you think that would _help_. You’re an adult, Ivan, and you do things on purpose, particularly in the Vor social arena. If you think negative reinforcement, from me, would make you more likely to share appropriate information in the future, then I can certainly do that. If not, you either will or you won’t, and we’ll just have to deal with it as it happens. I really can’t make you, at least not without resorting to measures I’m not at all willing to use. The point of that sort of punishment is behavior modification, after all.”

“Or role reinforcement,” Ivan said, a bit more of his frustration bleeding through. “Which, since we’re on the topic, you really haven’t done much of.”

“Oh.” Gregor sat back, deflated. “I see.”

“I mean, when you say that you’ll protect me, or that I’m not a burden, or whatever, I believe you,” Ivan continued. “But you’re so self-contained about everything, I don’t always _feel_ it.”

It was Gregor’s turn to look guiltily troubled, though unlike Ivan, he didn’t look away. “Well,” he said, his brow furrowed. “That’s certainly something we ought to address, whether or not it’s connected to the immediate problem. What sort of thing do you think would help? The first thing that comes to mind is orgasm denial, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea, when we both seem to enjoy it more generally. Mixing pleasure and punishment - or reinforcement, if you like - seems more likely to muddy the waters than clarify them.”

“Um, yeah, maybe,” said Ivan, his ears reddening slightly at Gregor’s very straight line to the point. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with such a matter-of-fact discussion of the mechanics of their relationship, or of his own kinks. “Though, I don’t know, it might be a good, uh, consistent reminder. But you’re rather skipping over the obvious, aren’t you? What’s wrong with an old-fashioned spanking? We haven’t done that in bed to confuse it with, or at least not yet.”

Gregor did look away now, avoiding Ivan’s gaze in favor of the side table. “Yes, well, there’s a reason for that,” he said, tension creeping into his shoulders. “I really don’t want to hit you, Ivan. I’m not sure I could manage it.”

Ivan raised his eyebrows. “Not even for something like this? I mean, if you’re really not comfortable, we obviously shouldn’t do it, but we’re just talking about a disciplinary reminder. It doesn’t have to be an act of sadism.”

Gregor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That’s the problem,” he said at last. “It doesn’t _have_ to, and in fact if we’re doing it as a formalized punishment, it probably shouldn’t be. But I’m worried that if we did something like that - if _I_ did something like that - it would be, regardless.”

“Wait,” said Ivan, confused. “You’re not uncomfortable with the idea because you _don’t_ want to do it - but because you _do?_ ”

Gregor hesitated. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Gregor’s pause was longer this time. “How much do you know about my father?” he said finally, turning back to Ivan for the first time.

Ivan’s eyebrows went into his hairline. “Uh. Apparently not enough?”

“Serg was a sadist,” Gregor said quietly. “And not remotely a considerate one. He didn’t confine it to collar relationships, either, or even to men. And one of the long list of women he hurt was my mother.”

“Oh.” Ivan sat back in his chair, his earlier train of thought completely derailed. Officially, Prince Serg was an almost romanticized war hero. He wondered how many people knew this particular truth, and if his mother were among them. It seemed likely; she was the right age to have known Princess Kareen.

“So, when I think about hitting you,” Gregor continued, in the same low tone, “and potentially enjoying it - I can’t. Not even in something as routine as a light spanking. It makes me sick to even think about.”

Ivan frowned. “Gregor, you’re the most considerate person I know, especially with me. You can’t think you’ll end up like _that_.”

“How could I not?” Gregor scrubbed a hand over his face. “Between him and Yuri… But no, I’m not worried I’m going to wake up one morning and suddenly act like a monster, or at least not anymore. The difference between us isn’t blood, but choices. He chose to hurt people; I choose not to. Not even like this.”

Ivan said nothing, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. Gregor’s preoccupation with sexual ethics, and avoiding even accidental Imperial coercion in finding partners, now made a great deal more sense.

“I’m sorry,” Gregor said, unexpectedly. 

“What?” said Ivan, frowning again. “For what?”

“For not being able to do this.”

“Do what?” Ivan asked. “We weren’t done with the conversation. All I asked was, what was wrong with spanking, and, well, you answered. Quite, uh, thoroughly. So that’s that on that, and now we can move on to something else.”

Gregor looked at him, the troubled lines of his face smoothing out a bit. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose we can.”

“So, um, I don’t think I need reinforcement on the specific point of telling you when stuff happens,” Ivan began again. He didn’t really want to lead this conversation, but he thought Gregor could use the encouragement at this point. Even in a more typical discussion, Gregor would keep going until he gave his opinion anyway; he might as well volunteer it and save them both time. “I might need prompting, though. I’m used to just dealing with things like this myself.”

“You don’t like to bother people,” Gregor said. “I know. Do you need reinforcement of the fact that your needs and opinions are not a bother to me?”

His voice was gentle, but he was using his back-of-the-skull look again, or close to it. Ivan shifted in his seat.

“I… maybe,” he said. “I think that’s part of it. I’m so used to leaving you alone, both for politics and because you seem to like it, and then you leave _me_ alone unless I prompt you, because you don’t want to push, I guess. And then on top of that, you’re just unavoidably busy a lot of the time, so neither of us has the opportunity to do anything regardless. It just gets to be a lot of distance, at some point. Which I feel like I can’t cross myself, because, well.” He trailed off with a shrug.

“Because you’ve spent years feeling like the afterthought of the family,” Gregor said quietly, his mouth tight. “Because I haven’t done enough to correct that impression.”

Ivan opened his mouth to deny this, but closed it again at the look on Gregor’s face.

“I don’t think negative reinforcement is a good idea,” Gregor continued, in the same tone. “I think what you need is very positive reinforcement: reassurance that you matter to me, and that I care. That I may enjoy distance from _people_ , but not specifically distance from _you_. Reassurance that you’re mine, and that that means something. Does that sound right?”

Ivan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It was exactly right, but a frank discussion of his emotions was even worse than a frank discussion of his kinks. It was like pressing down on a tight knot of muscle; it might be better in the long run, but the process could be screamingly uncomfortable.

“Alright.” Gregor let out a breath and sat back, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders. His expression smoothed out as well, changing from troubled to merely thoughtful. “You mentioned orgasm denial, earlier.”

“Um,” said Ivan. “Technically, you mentioned it.”

“So I did,” Gregor agreed with equanimity. “You seemed to find it appealing, though. What was it you said? ‘A good consistent reminder’? That seems like it might be a good option.”

“Um,” Ivan said again. It had certainly been an appealing fantasy, and the times Gregor had teased him in bed had definitely been enjoyable. He hadn't expected to be suddenly confronted with the serious suggestion of the reality, however.

“Ivan, the point is to find something that makes you feel secure,” Gregor said, watching his face. “If you don't like that idea, or if we try it and it doesn’t work for you, we’ll stop and try something else.”

Ivan looked up at him, frowning slightly. “You’d enjoy it though, right? I don’t want to do something you’d just be tolerating for my sake.”

“The more important question is whether it would give you what you need,” Gregor said. “I would happily do a lot of things for that reason that didn’t serve my personal enjoyment - though I do, as discussed, have my own limits. I hope someday I can convince you that taking care of you is worth that effort.”

Ivan looked away again. 

“You’re right, though; I would enjoy it.” Gregor reached across the small table to cup the side of Ivan’s neck, smoothing his thumb over Ivan’s jaw. “I like seeing you desperate, wanting something only I can give you. And I enjoy giving you what you want, too - eventually.” His voice was that calm, even tone that had almost a hypnotic effect on Ivan, sometimes. It certainly did now.

“Yeah, ok,” Ivan said, a bit breathlessly. “That sounds good then, let’s do that.”

Gregor smiled, and retrieved his hand. “Good,” he said. “We can start easy, just to try it out. Starting now, then: don’t touch your cock without my permission, unless it’s logistically necessary. Including during sex. _Especially_ during sex, in fact.”

“Yeah, ok,” Ivan said again, swallowing. “I can manage that.”

“If that gets to be too difficult, or if it’s not enough of a reminder, we can try using a chastity device,” Gregor said. “Anything suitable for longterm wear is going to have to be custom-fitted, but we don’t have to go all the way there in a hurry.”

Ivan blinked. “You’ve, uh, thought about this, I take it.”

Gregor shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “It’s… an interest. And I think it would be a very enjoyable dimension to play around with, for both of us. But I didn’t want to mention it before, in case you found the idea too extreme.”

“Oh,” Ivan said. “Hmm.” His mind wandered, briefly, on this inspiration.

“Of course, there’s still the problem of Lord Willem,” Gregor said.

Ivan made a disgusted face, both at subject itself and the sudden redirection. “Ugh,” he said. “Can’t we just ignore him, and hope he goes away?”

“No, _We_ cannot,” Gregor said pointedly. “Cordelia’s right about one thing, Ivan; Imperial power is a social construct. If people don’t believe in it, it fades. And neither of us can afford that. Lord Willem’s drunken misconduct at a party may be a small thing, but if one doesn’t police the small things, they accumulate, and one can soon be buried in them.” He sighed. “I’m going to consult your mother on the appropriate social response. Rescinding all Residence invitations for the season may do the trick, if he was on the list to be invited to any in the first place. Regardless, there has to be some consequence for his actions, or he won’t be the last to be inappropriate. Politics aside, I don’t want to leave you in that position if I can possibly help it. I don’t like the thought of someone like that putting his hands on you like he has the right.”

Ivan raised his eyebrows. “I thought this was just a political issue. Are you jealous?”

“Of Lord Willem?” Gregor raised his own eyebrow at Ivan. “Of course not. I’m not particularly worried about anything happening, either, given your security - and, frankly, you. You’ve had training, and a lot more lately, and you’re no slouch in the gym. If he had put his hands on you, you’d have been more than capable of removing them yourself. But you shouldn’t have to, and it’s my job to make sure that you don’t.”

“I don’t have experience with actual fistfights, though,” Ivan said. “It’s almost never worth it. But yeah, I could probably take Lord Willem, especially as drunk as he was.”

“Oh, I think you could beat him sober,” Gregor said, a glint coming into his eyes. “I think you could beat me in a fight, if it came to that.”

Ivan looked at him, aghast. “I _wouldn’t_.”

Gregor leaned towards him, a faint smirk playing around his lips. “I know.” He took Ivan’s chin in his hand and tilted it up, just slightly. “You have at least a dozen pounds of muscle on me, don’t you, Ivan? And it doesn’t matter at all. I could hold you down with one hand, and it would be no trouble.”

Ivan’s lips parted. At the angle to which Gregor had moved his face, they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. Not for the first time, he felt naked under Gregor’s gaze, despite the fact that they were both fully clothed.

“I could bend you over this table right now,” Gregor continued, slipping into the low murmur he usually used only in the bedroom. “Put my hands on you any way I liked, until you begged. Because you’d let me, wouldn’t you? You promised me your obedience, and you give it to me every time I ask.”

“Yes,” Ivan said, his breath coming rather faster. “Yes, please. Now?”

“Later, Ivan,” Gregor said, his eyes flickering pointedly down to Ivan’s crotch and back up. “If you’re good.” And he sat back, releasing Ivan’s chin and rearranging his expression into something that only just qualified as professional.

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Ivan vehemently, slouching back into his own chair and letting his head thunk back onto the top. “Why did I suggest that? What on earth was I thinking? Never mind, it was a terrible idea, I can totally make all the right decisions with no reinforcement at all, let’s just go to bed.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” Gregor said brightly, retrieving the spoon for his groats. “You’ve told me what you need, Ivan, and I intend to give it to you. I did promise you my guidance, after all.” By the intent look in his eyes, this was only partially a joke.

Ivan groaned. “I don’t think the first Counts intended that guidance to be available in custom-measured steel.” 

“Oh, I think some of them did,” Gregor said. “Some of the artifacts in the Vorhartung basement are very interesting indeed.”

Ivan was torn between morbid curiosity, and an absolute lack of desire to picture any of the old men from his history textbooks in any such position.

“At any rate, I’m going to ask Simon to continue to monitor the social fallout, and your mother as well,” Gregor said, putting a firm damper on that line of thought. “Hopefully, sending the appropriate message from the Office of Protocol will be enough to resolve the situation.”

“And if it’s not?” 

Gregor sighed. “At this point, Lord Willem is far too small a fly to swat with any real force. If he persists in making a nuisance of himself, I’m afraid I’ll have to get creative.”

Ivan drank his now-tepid coffee in contemplative silence, as they both finished their breakfast. Gregor’s creativity was a force to be reckoned with, and all the more so because few people expected it of him. If this mess went on much longer, Lord Willem Vorwynne would find himself up a rocky creek without a paddle, and probably without trousers into the bargain. As much as he wanted the whole thing to blow over quietly, Ivan found himself almost looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I double-checked this for Reasonable Accomodation, but then I forgot and screwed it up for this ‘verse - Ivan shouldn’t be working for Desplains yet. In CVA (when he’s 35 and Gregor has been married to Laisa for 5 years), he says he’s had that job for about 3 years. So here, where he’s probably 26 or 27, he should have… not that job, yet. Oh, well. Necessity!Ivan is just less secretly competent, I guess. It’s a BDSM AU, I suppose I don’t really need to care about canon.


End file.
